


Two of a Kind

by DancingHare



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-07 05:52:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13428180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DancingHare/pseuds/DancingHare
Summary: A scene from the twins' childhood.





	Two of a Kind

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published Aug. 22, 2007

“Vajarra? Where is your sister?”

She peered warily over the edge of her book. Her father stood in the doorway to the twins’ small room, frowning at Vassanta’s bunk. Which was, Vajarra noted, unmade.

Vajarra gave a petulant shrug. “I don’t know. I’m mad at her,” she said, turning the page with deliberation.

“Vajarra.” He was frowning more now, the lines around his mouth etched deeply with concern.

“But she doesn’t ever -listen-!” she cried, snapping the book closed on her pillow. “If she wants to go and get in trouble, I–”

He had crossed the room in one great stride and stood now beside her bunk, his tail-tip switching in agitation. Vajarra stopped short, knowing better than to push her luck further.

“She is your sister,” he said gently. “You cannot let her wander alone, you are a team. For always.” He knelt beside her now, and reached a large, strong hand to smooth her hair.

She nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. As she slid down from the bed, he caught her in a hug. “My little flower, go and find my little terocone. It is nearly time for supper.” She grinned crookedly, squeezing him tightly in return. He smelled faintly of gunpowder and the sweet smoke from his pipe.

“I will, papa,” she said, trotting out into the warm evening light of the terrace. All of the stalls in the market had closed for the evening, only a few straggling tired-looking vegetables and a crust of bread remained there now. Vajarra frowned thoughtfully, her eyes roaming the courtyard. Where could she be?

“Vassanta!” She called out for her sister as she wandered the wide stone streets, brushing past a regiment of soldiers returning to their barracks. They spared her a curious glance before continuing on their way.

She blinked hard, fighting back tears of worry and frustration. “Vassanta, where are you! I didn’t mean it!”

Something poked her between the shoulderblades, and she shrieked in surprise. Vassanta snickered behind her impromptu helmet, a cracked gourd shell. “Scared you?”

Vajarra glowered, pushing the tip of Vassanta’s “sword” away. It had possibly been a weapon at some point, but was now dulled beyond recognition. “That isn’t funny! You’re going to be in big trouble!”

Vassanta leapt deftly onto the wall beside her, crouching like a spider as she surveyed the city below them. “I’m not in trouble,” she said, tucking her sword into her belt. “I’m scouting.”

Below, in the city’s lower ring, white tents speckled the ground like mushrooms. At first there had been only a few. But they seemed to come every day now, shuffling across the arch with their bundles, hope written on their strange faces. And they were an endless source of fascination, even Vajarra had to admit, these odd looking people from far away. She could not imagine living in a tiny tent in the market, but they seemed content enough.

“There’s orcs here,” Vassanta said gravely, turning to look back at her sister.

“No there’s not,” Vajarra scoffed, crossing her arms. “Stop trying to scare me.” And then, very reasonably, she added, “If there were orcs, the soldiers would kill them.”

Her sister’s expression hardened, the one that meant there was no dissuading her from what she was thinking. “There are orcs, and I’ll show you.” Before Vajarra could protest, Vassanta had skittered down from her perch, and was descending the ramp into the lower tier at a heady trot.

Vassanta slid against a wall, her makeshift sword drawn. “Shhh!” Vajarra squeaked and ducked behind her, as one of the bird-people doddered past them on the path. It raised its feathers and cocked a beady, curious eye at the pair, but continued on its way, clutching a leather bag closely to its chest.

“That was close!” Vassanta adjusted her gourd helmet, which had slipped down over the nubs of her horns. “I’m pretty sure they are dangerous,” she added, eyeing Vajarra accusingly. “Next time don’t make noise!”

Vajarra gulped and nodded, peering into the tent flaps as they slunk past. Most of their inhabitants were occupied with preparing their evening meals, crouched over dented pots and open flames, just as their mother was far above in their house. It made Vajarra feel suddenly and absurdly afraid, and she hurried to catch up with Vassanta again.

The far end of the circle was hidden in long shadows, the evening light unable to reach into its corners. Here Vassanta ducked behind a post, tugging Vajarra with her. “Look,” she whispered, nodding toward one of the tents.

She didn’t want to. She wanted to run back home, away from the strange people and strange smells and bird-people. But what if there really -were- orcs here? She would have to tell their father. He no longer served in the army, but Vajarra knew he still kept his armor and sword, she had seen him cleaning it before while he sat before the fire.

Vassanta nudged her sharply in the ribs, jarring her out of her thoughts. “Ow,” she said, frowning at her sister.

“Are you scared?” The words seemed to bite Vajarra.

“No,” she whispered, but she meant yes. Trembling, she leaned around the edge of the post, her eyes searching the area quickly so they could just go home.

There were four of them. A mother and father, and two young ones. The father sat with his back toward them, working on a skin that lay across his lap. The mother stirred a pot of something slowly, and grunted softly to the two children. Vajarra stood riveted by fear, watching as if in a dream. The smaller of the two orc children had discovered a fat beetle and popped it into its mouth, its older sibling howling with their eerie laughter. The male turned to look, but Vajarra thought that he could see them from the corner of his eye. It was enough to break her trance, and she turned and fled as fast as her hooves would carry her.

She continued to run, not even looking back for Vassanta, hooves clattering on the stone. She needn’t have worried, it turns out, as Vassanta quickly passed her, panting. She’d lost her gourd helmet, but a look of triumph lay across her face. “See!”

Vajarra felt pale and weary. She glanced to the Terrace of Light, where the naaru gathered. “But why are they allowed here?”

“Don’t know,” Vassanta said, shrugging. Vajarra noted with some amazement that she seemed remarkably unflustered by the idea of orcs being in the city. “It’s because they are brown, I think,” she added after a moment’s thought.

Vajarra got to her hooves again, walking back toward their home. She hadn’t noticed whether the orcs were brown or not, they were frightening anyway. To her relief, Vassanta followed amiably, though her sister seemed lost in thought.

“You mean they are good orcs?” Vajarra asked as they rounded the last building before their house.

Vassanta considered this, and shrugged. “Maybe,” she admitted. “They didn’t eat -you-, anyway.”

Vajarra didn’t find it nearly as funny, but was too tired to argue. Good orcs or not, the idea of them being so near frightened her. The bird-people and the strange pinkish humans were strange, but neither filled her heart with dread as the sight of the orcs had.

Vassanta paused midstep, her hard eyes searching Vajarra’s expression. “Hey…” she lay a hand on her sister’s shoulder. “You’re not really scared, are you?”

Vajarra trembled, willing herself not to cry again. Vassanta pulled her close and hugged her. “Don’t worry,” she said, taking both her hands in her own with a gentle squeeze. “I won’t let anything bad happen to you. You’re my sister.”

As infuriating as she could sometimes be, Vajarra knew it to be true.


End file.
